


to set eyes again upon your heart

by liggytheauthoress



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst with a Happy Ending, Forced Prostitution, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5135654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liggytheauthoress/pseuds/liggytheauthoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I do not do this because you command it. I do it because it is what he would desire me to do. But make no mistake - if I hear even a whisper that may lead me to him, I will leave.”</p><p>When Nasir goes missing after a battle, Agron refuses to accept the possibility that he might be dead.</p><p>Rated for implied/alluded to non-con, nothing explicit. Set between Vengeance and War of the Damned/during WotD episode two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s been months since it happened. Five months - one hundred and forty-six days - to be exact. And Agron can’t help keeping an exact count. Can’t help counting every hour that’s passed since the rebels regrouped after a battle and discovered that several of their number were missing neither among the surviving soldiers nor the dead.

Nasir was one of the missing.

Agron had spent three days searching, questioning everybody who had been involved in the fight (and many more who had remained in the safety of the camp), desperately hunting for even the smallest clue or lead.

After three days, Spartacus had said it was no longer safe to remain where they were, they had to move camp.

“And what of Nasir and the others?” Agron fumed. “What if they return here and find us gone?”

“If they have not been found by now they are likely miles away,” Crixus said. “If they are even still alive at all-”

He was cut off by Agron’s fist slamming into his face with enough force to knock him down. “ _He’s not dead_ ,” Agron hissed, towering over the Gaul with a black look on his face that made everyone around them take half a step back. “I would know if he was.”

“Then he is slave to the Romans once more and cannot get back to us anyway.” Crixus wiped at the thin stream of blood starting to trickle from his lip. “It is madness to put the entire rebellion at risk over an impossibility.”

Agron moved to punch him again, but Spartacus anticipated it and grabbed him before he could carry out the blow. That didn’t stop Agron from shouting, though. “If Naevia was among the missing you would not be speaking so!”

“Enough!” Spartacus order. “Agron-”

“ _You_ may all leave if you wish, but as long as there is even a _chance_ of him being found, I will not leave.” Agron shook off the hands holding him back. “We will rejoin you if and when we can.”

He started to stalk away, but Spartacus pulled him back. “Agron! You are a general in this army, you cannot simply desert it.” Before Agron could respond, the Thracian continued in a softer tone, “I know I ask much of you. But I must ask it all the same. Nasir would not wish you to jeopardize your life, or anyone else’s, over him.”

There was a long silence as Agron considered Spartacus’s words. There was truth in them, he realized begrudgingly - Nasir would never consider himself more important than the rest of the army (even though he was), and he’d definitely never want anyone getting hurt or killed because of him.

He imagined Nasir standing beside him, resting a hand on his bicep as he said in a gently chiding tone, _Do what Spartacus asks. I will be all right until you find me. And you will find me. I will see you again._

Slowly, Agron let out a breath and looked at Spartacus as he said, “I do not do this because you command it. I do it because it is what he would desire me to do. But make no mistake - if I hear even a _whisper_ that may lead me to him, I will leave.”

Spartacus nodded, silently acknowledging and accepting the conditions of Agron’s compliance. He clamped the German softly on the shoulder and said, “We leave at dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: the first couple chapters of this are gonna be hella short because a) I have no patience or attention span of which to speak and b) the main reason I'm writing this at all is for the Big Reunion Scene. Because I am garbage.


	2. Chapter 2

He’s finally come to truly understand the hell that Crixus must have gone through during his search for Naevia.

After Duro died, his absence had eventually gone from being a piercing pain to a dull but steady ache in Agron’s chest. It hurt, but he was able to function. This, though…Waking up each morning without Nasir in his arms is like experiencing the loss anew, and, while with Duro he had at least sometimes been capable of blocking out the grief, even for just a little while, Agron can find no such respite this time. He feels it every waking moment, a constant stream at the forefront of his mind, and his dreams are full of Nasir’s voice and visage, accusing Agron of not looking for him, of abandoning him.

Rationally - or as rationally as Agron can manage to be without his Syrian here to ground him - he knows that Nasir would never blame him for fulfilling his duty as one of Spartacus’s most trusted generals, that Nasir wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice himself for the greater good, but that doesn’t stop the blame and self-loathing from hanging over him like a dark cloud.

_I should not be here. I should be looking for him._

There have been several instances where he came close to desertion, and in every one, the one thing to make him stay was the thought of Nasir reminding Agron of the loyalty he had sworn to Spartacus and to the army. _Do not break promise over me. I do not desire to cause you to renounce your oaths._

_I will see you again._

* * *

 

Agron doesn’t look up from sharpening his sword as the mats to his tent part and someone enters, nor does he react to the sound of Spartacus’s voice saying, “I would break words with you,” beyond a simple grunt and nod of his head.

There is strained silence for a few moments before Spartacus continues, “Gannicus and I leave soon for Sinuessa. You know what you and Crixus must do?”

“Yes.” Agron’s voice is flat and toneless - uncharacteristic for the usually passionate German, but typical of the shadow he’s become in the many weeks since Nasir’s disappearance.

“I am depending on the two of you to be on time. If you move too late, Gannicus and I are dead.”

“We will be there. You have my word.”

Spartacus nods, seeming to realize that he isn’t going to get much more of a conversation from Agron. He rises and moves to leave, but at the entrance of the tent he pauses. Turning slightly, he says, “I know these past months have not been easy for you, Agron. Gratitude, for staying - your presence as both friend and counsel have meant much.”

“I merely keep the oath I swore to you. Gratitude is not necessary.” There is vague accusation in Agron’s tone, but Spartacus knows it’s directed inwards rather than at him.

“He would not think less of you for this.”

Agron finally looks up, eyes shadowed and haunted. His jaw visibly flexes for a moment before he sighs and says quietly, “I know.” He looks away briefly, gaze flickering to where Nasir’s spear stands propped against the tent pole, before looking back to Spartacus. “Gannicus is waiting. And do not worry - Crixus and I will be there when we are needed.”

Recognizing the dismissal for what it is, Spartacus nods and leaves, his thoughts lingering on the misery he had seen in his friend’s face and the knowledge that if Nasir is not found soon, there will be little left of Agron for him to reunite with.


	3. Chapter 3

Nasir knows it can’t have been more than five or six months since he was snatched from the battlefield, but it feels like an eternity since he woke up in a Roman cart, stripped and bound, huddled together with several other rebels in similar condition.

Prizes of war, they were told.

As it turned out, the soldiers who grabbed Nasir and the others in the cart had been less interested in acquiring new slaves and more interested in lining their own pockets with coin, which was how, mere days after the battle, Nasir found himself standing on an auction block.

He’d been but a child the first time he was sold into slavery, the memory a vague and hazy image at the back of his mind, but he remembered it being incredibly overwhelming and terrifying. The noises, the crowd, the knowledge that his life was no longer his own. This felt much the same - but at the same time Nasir could feel a tentative swell of hope in his heart, even as he watched the Roman fucks bidding for him like he was cattle.

This would not be his end. He felt it. Somehow, he’d get out of this

He _would_ see Agron again in this life.

But now, all these months later, Nasir is starting to lose hope. Horatius - the brothel owner he was purchased by that day - isn’t as cruel as Nasir’s former dominus, but being reduced once again to little more than a warm body for Romans to take pleasure from, especially after experiencing freedom and being able to choose who he took to his bed, is beginning to wear at the Syrian’s spirit.

The slaves at the brothel are all given certain times of the day during which they can rest, sleep, or eat, and Nasir has been looking forward to his since he awoke that morning. He scrounges what little bread and wine he can find and goes to where Sabia is curled in the corner of the room.

Truth be told, he doesn’t know what he would have done without Sabia. She’s the only other rebel in the brothel, and while Nasir had rarely spoken to her before their capture, since then they’ve become fast friends. Each other’s only link to the freedom they left behind.

“Are you not going to eat?” Sabia asks as Nasir hands all of the food to her.

He shrugs. “I have no stomach for it tonight. Besides, you look as though you need it more than I.”

Sabia gives him a stern look and deliberately hands back some of the bread. “Eat. You have become too thin already, I do not wish to see you waste away entirely.”

Nasir sheepishly takes back his own portion and is about to reply when the sounds of shrill screaming and yelling suddenly reach his ears. He jerks to his feet, reflexes still those of a warrior even after all this time, and moves in front of Sabia, ready to protect her from whatever threat might be coming.

It all happens so quickly. The door bursts inwards and several men coming storming in, weapons drawn and bloody, but they don’t move to harm any of the slaves - they immediately zero in on the Romans in the main chamber and the rooms behind, dispatching them efficiently and ruthlessly.

One man drags Horatius out from behind the couch where he was hiding and throws him to the ground, raising an axe to strike a killing blow…and Nasir recognizes the man almost instantly, and he scarcely dares to believe his own eyes as he calls out above the commotion, “ _Donar!_ ”


	4. Chapter 4

“Nasir?” Donar’s face splits into a huge, bearish grin as he steps forward to clasp Nasir’s arm tightly. “By the gods...we believed you lost to us.”

“I was beginning to believe same,” Nasir admits breathlessly. He hesitates before asking the question he fears the answer to. “Agron...is he-”

“He yet lives.”

Nasir feels himself slump in relief as Donar turns to sneer at Horatius, who has curled into a snivelling ball on the floor. “I was going to kill you myself, you fuck, but now I think that honor should go to the Syrian.” He holds up his axe, offering it over, and Nasir has scarcely taken it in hand before Donar is shouting over his shoulder, “Lugo!”

A familiar face pokes in through the now-broken doorway, and Nasir doesn’t even try to feel irritation at the familiar greeting of, “Little man!” He never thought he’d ever be this happy to see Lugo, but he is.

It’s not the person he most wants to see, however.

Donar seems to sense this, because he grins again and says, “Find Agron and tell him we have found his boy. They have been too long parted.”

“I would sooner go with him,” Nasir says even as Lugo makes his leave. Now that he knows Agron is _here_ , is alive, he feels himself burning with the desire, the _need_ , to go to his gladiator. He doesn’t want to just wait here, not when Agron is so tantalizingly close.

Donar shrugs apologetically. “City is in chaos. Agron would have my cock if you were further injured in search of him.” He glances down in distaste. “Besides, Roman fuck still warrants your attention.”

Nasir looks from the weapon in his hand to the man on the ground before him. While it’s true Horatius had never been particularly cruel, he’s still a Roman and a slave-owner. Under his ownership, Nasir and countless others had been forced to submit and degrade themselves for the pleasure of others - that’s more than just cause.

Besides, Horatius is doomed to die regardless - if not by Nasir’s hand, then almost certainly by Agron’s.

“I will kill you quickly,” Nasir said quietly, raising the axe. “You do not deserve it, but it is more of a mercy than leaving you for the German when he arrives.”

Before Horatius can even open his mouth to beg for his life, it’s done. Naser watches the body fall and takes a moment to just breathe before wordlessly handing the axe back to Donar. Sabia, who has finally risen from her defensive crouch in the corner, moves to glare down at the corpse in contempt. “May the gods assign you fitting punishment in the afterlife, you fuck,” she spits.

Nasir places a calming hand on Sabia’s arm, and she turns to give him a small but genuine smile. “Spirits rise at the thought of you and absent heart being reunited once more,” she says warmly.

“As they do at the thought of you and others regaining precious freedom.” Nasir’s thoughts turn to the other slaves in the brothel. He knows many of them have known little else but servitude and that the rebels’ violent intrusion will have upset more than a few of them. “I would se the others slaves here put to ease - I fear our liberators, though welcome, may have frightened some.”

“ _I_ will see to easing frightened souls,” Sabia says in a tone that reminds Nasir of Mira’s more maternal tendencies. “ _You_ will do nothing, save wait here for your heart’s arrival.”

Nasir can’t bring himself to object.

Donar has been watching them intently, and when Sabia leaves he says, solemnly, “The gods showed fucking favor leading us here. You have been sorely missed by all.”

There’s an undercurrent in his voice that Nasir picks up on immediately. “Agron…”

“It had been too long since any of us saw him smile.”

Nasir winces. “It is a pain I would have given much to spare him from. I feared for him, more than anything. I know how...impulsive he can be; he is so often guided only by his heart and not his head.”

Donar snorts, then turns serious again. “He wished to search for you. It was only command from Spartacus that made him stay.”

“For which I owe Spartacus gratitude. It would have been a fool’s errand.” Nasir can’t stop himself from imagining it - Agron, setting off on his own, letting emotion cloud his senses and reason...He would have been for the afterlife before long.

Nasir _aches_ to see him.

Before he can voice desire to leave and search out Agron himself, there’s a new commotion from outside. Shouting. The sound of heavy, running footsteps.

A beautifully familiar voice, the memory of which Nasir has clung to all these months, using it to anchor him and keep himself sane.

Nasir’s feet stubbornly refuse to move and he curses them, but then there is no need, because finally the most exquisite sight he has ever seen is before him.

Agron stands in the doorway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, all right, I wanted to be mean and try to drag this out for just a bit longer, but I have no willpower x) I hope this ending isn't too terrible; I'm honestly pretty proud of this, considering I knocked it out in about three days.
> 
> (Also this is the closest I have ever come to writing a sex scene and tbh I am somewhat shocked at myself.)

The battle has scarcely ended, Spartacus only just having demanded that no more Roman blood be shed, when Lugo appears out of nowhere, running as if Death itself is on his heels. Agron takes little notice - he’s found it more and more difficult to rouse concern for much of anything in the past months.

Lugo skids to a halt at Agron’s side, grabbing at his shoulder and exclaiming in German, “ _We found Nasir._ ”

For several moments, Agron can do nothing but stare at him dumbly, mind rebelling at the proclamation, first refusing to process it and then overwhelming him with what has to be false hope, it can’t be, Nasir is gone, lost to him…

But the wide-eyed, earnest expression on Lugo’s face doesn’t alter, doesn’t shift, except to grow more urgent, and his grip on his friend’s shoulder doesn’t loosen, and suddenly the implication, the truth, of his words hits Agron like a physical blow.

Nasir is here.

Nasir is _here_.

His body feels as though it’s not his own as he grabs Lugo in a white-knuckled grip and simply barks out, “ _Where?_ ”

* * *

There is a long silence where Agron and Nasir can do nothing but stare at each other, still separated by a distance of several feet. Everything has gone very still and quiet around them - or perhaps they’re just too focused on one another to notice anything else.

Nasir speaks first - just the barest whisper, not so much saying as breathing Agron’s name - and then they both move at once, crossing the suddenly cavernous space between them in a moment. Agron’s arms lunge forward to snare Nasir in an embrace Jupiter himself could not break, crushing him against the German’s chest so tightly his breath is taken away. Nasir reciprocates in full, his own arms coming up to cling to Agron’s middle, fingers digging into armor.

Agron’s face is pressed into Nasir’s hair as he breathes his Syrian in, the familiar scent overwhelming after all this time. His eyes sting, his throat is tight, and he dimly realizes that he’s crying. He can’t bring himself to care.

He’s never been a religious man, but Agron hears himself whispering, “ _Thank the fucking gods...Nasir…_ ”

Nasir turns to press his lips to Agron’s collarbone. “They see me to your arms once more,” he whispers back.

Agron tightens his hold. “And they will have to slay me a thousand times over if they wish to take you from them again.” He pulls back to cup Nasir’s face in trembling hands. There are tears in Nasir’s eyes also, he sees, and Agron dips down to kiss away the errant one slipping down the smaller man’s cheek. “Rome herself could storm through this door and I would not be moved.”

Nasir gives him a tearful smile. “Way with words has not diminished.”

“They come easily at return of lost heart.” Agron brushes the pads of his thumbs along Nasir’s cheekbones, gazing at the face he has too long been denied sight of. As his eyes drift to Nasir’s mouth, he can’t restrain himself any longer and melds his lips to his lover’s in a hungry, desperate kiss.

They kiss until they’re breathless, and even then they pull apart only enough to inhale, lips still just barely brushing. Agron presses their foreheads together and, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, smiles.

* * *

Word travels fast, and Nasir soon finds his reunion with Agron interrupted, as what feels like the entire rebellion converges on them. Spartacus, Naevia, Crixus, Saxa - all appear, embracing him, giving thanks that the gods have returned him to their numbers.

Throughout all, Agron’s arm remains firmly around Nasir’s waist, and the Syrian as no doubts that anyone foolish enough to lay attempt to remove it would soon find themselves absent the use of their hand.

Everyone has questions and Nasir answers as well as he can. He makes attempt to smooth over as much of his time in the brothel as he can, but Agron’s body language is eloquent, and Nasir knows he spared Horatius a painful and torturous death at the hands of his German.

Before too long, Nasir finds himself growing impatient - he’s truly happy to see the other rebels once more, but what he wants most of all in this moment is to be alone with Agron. Spartacus, ever the observant leader, places a hand on his shoulder and says, “Night’s events take toll on all. Go, rest; I will see to it you are not disturbed.”

“Gratitude,” is all Nasir manages to say before Agron all but carries him from the building.

They lay claim to the first villa they come upon and have hardly crossed the threshold before hands are tearing at clothing and armor, mouths moving along every inch of exposed skin. Agron, always a thoughtful lover to begin with, is more thorough in his attentions than Nasir would ever have thought possible. He spends hours worshipping Nasir’s body with more reverence than most priests can muster up for their gods, and his touch is so impossibly, indescribably tender and loving that Nasir feels tears spring to his eyes.

“No one shall _ever_ see you from my side again,” Agron murmurs, lips trailing along Nasir’s neck. “I will send them to the fucking afterlife with my bare hands if they try.”

Nasir makes a soothing noise and nips at Agron’s jaw. “Waste no more words on troubling thoughts. I would have your mind turn to more pleasant endeavours.”

Agron grins, wild and mischievous, and rumbles, “Your will, my hands.”

Later, there will be time for words. Time for Agron to make unnecessary apology for not doing more to find Nasir and beg forgiveness, time for Nasir to calm his lover with voice and hands and assurances that there is nothing that needs to be forgiven. Time for vows and oaths and endless declarations. But for now, there is nothing but touches and kisses.

For now, there is nothing but two damaged halves of the same heart once more coming together. And _nothing_ , no Roman or god, would tear them asunder.


End file.
